Catalyst
by Matroushka
Summary: Ron was quite happy with his life, until Draco Malfoy stuck his pointy nose in and turned everything upside down... HP-RW slash, HP-DM friendship.


**A/N:** Written for Trubbleclef, who put in the winning bid on me in the Ron-a-Thon fundraising auction on The Quidditch Pitch. Many thanks to Iamshadow for the beta and support. Visit my livejournal for more info and the unabridged version of this story.

**Catalyst**

--

Gawain Robards, Chief Auror, sighed as he closed the folder labelled 'Potter, H' and placed it on top of an identical one labelled 'Malfoy, D'. Then he tapped the small blue crystal set on the corner of his desk with the tip of his wand and said, "Send him in, Freda."

There was a knock on the door and it immediately opened.

"Sit down, Potter."

Harry Potter closed the door then sat down on one of the plain wooden chairs in front of the Chief Auror's desk.

"What am I going to do with you, Potter?" Robards said. He suppressed a wince at the weariness he detected in his own voice and continued, "You have a 100 percent success rate on your cases. You're the best Auror this department has seen in decades. You'll run this place when I retire. If you live long enough, that is."

"Sir, I -"

"I'm talking, Potter. Now, can you explain to me why my most experienced Aurors tell me that you appear to have a death wish? And why Jenkins refuses to talk about why he asked to be transferred to a new partner? Or why Anderson burst into tears when she was told that she would be your new partner and resigned on the spot?"

"Sir, I -"

"I. Am. Talking."

Potter snapped his mouth shut and huffed angrily. Robards shot him a quelling glare and continued, "I am well aware that some of this is not your fault, Potter. Your reputation precedes you. Having the Saviour of the Wizarding World assigned as your partner can be intimidating. I understand that. I also understand that a few of the more – immature – members of the department saw working with you as a challenge; a way to knock you off your pedestal. Make a name for themselves. I have no problem with you putting the fear of Merlin into them." Robards paused, then he leant forward and added, "But you cannot work out in the field without a partner you can trust to watch your back."

"But that's just it," Potter blurted out. "I don't. Trust them, I mean. Any of them. It wasn't supposed to have been like this. It should have been..." His voice died away and his eyes widened as he appeared to suddenly realise what he had just said.

"You and Weasley," Robards said wearily.

Potter frowned. "I never said -"

Robards cut him off, saying, "You didn't have to. It was common knowledge that you two intended to join the department together. But that didn't happen, and you chose to join the Department of Magical Law Enforcement on your own. Which means that you will have to work with someone else. Rules are rules, Potter, and they apply to everyone. And especially to you, because if anybody needed someone to stop them running off and getting themselves killed in the line of duty, it's you."

"I don't -"

"You are reckless, Potter, and your own safety appears to be very low on your list of priorities when you're out in the field." Robards scrubbed his hands over his face, then huffed softly and leant back in his chair. "You've done your job, son. You took down a Dark Lord, single-handed." Robards raised a hand in a quelling motion as he continued, "Yes, yes, I know, everybody and their crup helped. But ultimately it came down to you and him. And you did it. But no matter what labels the great unwashed out there choose to hang on you, you are not personally responsible for the safety of every individual in the entire bloody wizarding world. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Potter was staring at his hands, picking at his thumbnail obsessively. After a moment he mumbled, "Yes, sir."

Robards sighed. "One of your colleagues told me you have the self-preservation instincts of a depressed lemming. Which means that it's up to me, as your superior officer, to do everything I can to keep you from getting yourself killed. Up to and including firing you if I have to. Do I make myself clear?"

The man in front of him just nodded, still staring at his hands.

"Right. To that end, I have assigned you a partner. He has a vested interest in making it work, Potter, because he is also on his last chance."

Robards tapped the tip of his wand against the communication crystal once more. It glowed, and Harry heard a voice say, "Yes, sir?"

"Send him in, Freda."

There was a knock at the door, and Potter turned his head. His eyes widened as he saw Draco Malfoy enter the office, and he turned quickly to face his boss.

"No! You can't -"

"Shut up, Potter. Malfoy, take a seat."

"Thank you, sir."

"Right, you two. This is your last chance. Both of you. You either work for this department together, or you don't work for this department at all." He paused to let his words sink in, then continued, "I have not placed you together on a whim, gentlemen. You will both benefit from this, and I expect you both to work hard to make it a success. Now, I've taken you out of the field for the next seven days. You are rostered on desk duty. If, during that time, I receive one report that either of you has hexed, cursed, or caused any damage to the other – of any sort – you are fired. If, on the other hand, I see that you are capable of working together as a team, you will be placed back on active duty. Freda's got the details; see her on your way out. Dismissed."

"Sir, I must protest -"

"Shut up, you idiot," Malfoy snapped as he grabbed Potter by the arm and hauled him out of the office.

Robards smiled as the door slammed shut. Malfoy was the only Auror who would have dared treat Potter that way. Oddly enough, Potter was the only person in the department that Malfoy seemed to have even a shred of respect for. If he had had his way, he'd have teamed them from the word go. Potter needed someone who wasn't in the least bit in awe of him to keep him in line. And Malfoy... Robards sighed. He hadn't wanted to accept him into Auror training. Robards was enough of a politician to recognise Malfoy's primary motivation in joining. To be seen to be actively working for the Light in an attempt to redeem his family's name and reputation. But he'd done surprisingly well, and had turned into a more than competent Auror. The trouble was, no one wanted to work with him. Old prejudices ran deep, and Malfoy had been injured by friendly fire more often than mere coincidence would allow.

Robards had done what he could. Had made his displeasure known, and had made it clear to the main offenders that he knew what was going on and would hold them personally responsible for any further occurrences. But all that had done was made them more careful. Robards could not in good conscience allow Malfoy out on any case that had even the slightest chance of becoming dangerous any more, because he knew the lad would likely end up in St. Mungo's again. If he survived.

But if Malfoy and Potter were a team... If Potter would work with him, maybe even befriend him, it would go a long way to changing the situation. As Potter's partner, Malfoy would be untouchable. And Malfoy was savvy enough to understand that. He would do everything he could to make it work, and more to the point, keep Potter alive. Which was the point of the exercise, after all. He just hoped Malfoy didn't allow his bloody pride to get in the way.

He sighed as he picked up their files and slipped them into his desk drawer. He was suddenly reminded of an old Chinese curse: _May you live in interesting times._ An odd shiver went down his spine, and he found himself hoping that he hadn't made a terrible mistake.

--

Ron eased himself gratefully onto the couch in the corner of his office and carefully raised his right leg, resting it on the cushions as he massaged his aching muscles. There was a perfunctory tap at his office door and before he could even call out, the door flew open and a short, powerfully built man strode in.

"Ron! You did a brilliant job out there, today, mate. I -"

The man stopped speaking abruptly as his gaze fell on Ron's leg.

"You want me to send Marie in?"

Ron shook his head, grateful for the lack of pity in the other man's eyes. "No thanks, Alf. I'll take a muscle relaxant in a minute. It's my own fault. Shouldn't have stayed up so long."

"Don't talk bollocks," Alf said. He took a step back and shouted, "Marie! Get your arse into Ron's office, girl," through the open doorway.

"I'm fine -"

"We hired her to look after the team, and that includes the trainer," Alf said firmly. Then he stepped quickly out of the way as a capable looking woman bustled into the office.

"Up you get, Mr. Weasley," she said as she wrapped a sturdy arm around Ron and helped him to his feet. A brisk motion with her wand turned Ron's couch into a massage table, and before he knew it he was flat on his back as Marie began working on his leg.

Alf dragged a chair over to sit next to the massage table.

"Looks like training went well today. As I was saying, you did a brilliant job with young Susan. I always knew she had the potential, but we could never get her to perform under pressure."

"She's a bit more nervous than your average Seeker, Alf. And the way the Beaters had been playing wasn't helping. Once we'd run through the new tactics and she was convinced that they'd be protecting her more than they have been, she was fine. Knocked off her broom by a Bludger as a kid, I reckon."

"You could be right," Alf said after a moment. "So what do you reckon our chances are tomorrow, then?"

Ron turned his head to look at the team manager and said, "Good. The Falcons are going to underestimate us, and that should buy us enough time to get a good lead before they regroup."

Alf grinned. "Yeah. They're right up themselves at the moment. Top of the league and think their shit doesn't stink. Their manager was mouthing off the other night, so I heard. Reckons the Cannons are a walkover. But we'll show the little prick, won't we?"

Ron grinned back. "Too bloody right. The team have been working their arses off. Sue's all fired up, and I'm really looking forward to seeing how our new tactics – ow!"

"Sorry, Mr. Weasley, but I've got to work on this long muscle or you'll be in agony later on," Marie said apologetically.

Alf got to his feet as he said, "You mind you do as she tells you, Ron, then go home and get some rest. Busy day tomorrow."

Ron nodded as Alf gave his shoulder a quick squeeze then strode out of the office.

"You really shouldn't stay up on a broom for so long, Mr. Weasley," Marie said reproachfully.

"Yeah, I know."

Ron winced as Marie attacked his thigh muscle again. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift.

Alf was a good man. Ron remembered his first visit to the dressing rooms of the Chudley Cannons after the war. The manager, Alf Toohey, had found out that Ron was a life-long fan and had invited him to meet the team. They'd all been very impressed at meeting a genuine war hero, and somewhat amazed to learn that he was their most ardent supporter, despite the fact that they had to be the most dismal Quidditch team of all time.

They'd invited Ron along on their post-match drowning of the sorrows, and Alf had asked Ron about his playing experience. Ron had talked of being Keeper at Hogwarts and of the tactics he'd worked out with Harry that had led to Gryffindor winning the cup. He'd been absolutely amazed when Alf had offered him a try-out with the team there and then, and Ron had had to explain about his war injury. His back and legs had been badly damaged by a hex that had been meant for Harry. The Healers, both wizard and Muggle, had done their best, but he had a permanent limp and very little strength in the muscles. He could go up on a broom if it had special stabilising charms cast on it, but he'd never play Keeper again.

Ron had braced himself for the pitying looks and sympathetic murmurings he'd come to expect when people heard the story, but instead Alf had shaken his head dismissively and said that Keepers were ten-a-Knut and that wasn't what he was offering. He wanted Ron as assistant trainer, at least initially, and if his ideas worked out, he'd take over training the team. Ron had been hesitant, still thinking that this was an offer made out of pity, but Alf had soon disabused him of the idea.

Their current trainer was overdue for retirement, Alf had told him, but they were having trouble finding a replacement. The team's reputation was so bad that no decent trainer would touch them, scared of ruining their career by being associated with them. Alf freely admitted that they were desperate, and that was why he was willing to take a gamble on Ron.

Ron had jumped at the chance. The team had been less enthusiastic at the thought of an untried kid taking over as trainer – until they won their first match. And by the time they'd won their third, they were Ron's most ardent supporters. The other teams in the league still underestimated the Cannons, deeming their winning streak of the previous season as nothing but a fluke. But Ron didn't care. When they continued to win this season, attitudes would soon change.

"Mr. Weasley?"

"Sorry. I was drifting off, there."

Marie beamed at him. "Well, I've obviously done a good job, then! Now, up you get."

Ron sat up and allowed Marie to help him off the table, and she transfigured it back into a couch in seconds.

"Have a hot bath when you get home, and take your muscle relaxant potion before you go to bed, and you'll be right as rain in the morning," Marie said cheerfully.

"Thanks," Ron said, giving her a quick wave as she left the office, closing the door softly behind her.

--

Ron appeared almost silently in the hallway of the cosy cottage he shared with Harry. He raised his head and sniffed, smiling as he detected the unmistakable aroma of curry.

"Harry?"

"In the kitchen."

Ron pushed the kitchen door open, then stopped dead in the doorway, not quite believing his eyes.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you, too, Weasel."

"Malfoy!" Harry said sharply. He shot an apologetic glance at Ron as he said, "He's my new partner, and we're still technically on duty. I remembered I promised to get dinner this evening, so I brought curry back for you, and thought we might as well eat here, too."

"Right," Ron said tersely, finally noticing that Harry was indeed still wearing his red Auror robes. As was Malfoy. "Well, just leave it there. I'll have it later." Then he turned and walked out of the kitchen.

Ron lowered himself gingerly into his large, comfortable armchair in the living room. It was a charmed recliner that Harry had bought for Ron when they first moved into the cottage together, and once Ron was settled it gently adjusted itself, supporting his back and raising his legs to a comfortable position. Ron gave a sigh of relief as the chair moulded itself around him, and closed his eyes. The Muggle healers had managed to give him almost full mobility in his left leg, but his right had taken the brunt of the damage and although it could bear Ron's weight, cramps, muscle spasms and an almost constant ache were the price he paid for walking on his own two feet. Ron thought it was worth it.

"You okay, Ron?"

"Yeah, just tired," Ron said. He opened his eyes to find Harry crouched next to his chair, a look of concern on his face.

"Look, I'm sorry about Malfoy."

Ron snorted. "That's a phrase you'd better get used to saying if he's really been assigned as your partner, mate. So how did that happen, anyway? Robards must really have it in for you."

"It's not like that, Ron. It's..." Harry huffed and shook his head. "It's complicated. I don't have any choice, and neither does Malfoy, and if I want to stay with the Aurors..." Harry's voice trailed off, and Ron reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Do you? I mean, you don't seem to be enjoying it much, these days."

Harry shrugged.

"I mean," Ron continued, "McGonagall has offered to take you on up at Hogwarts. You'd only have to train for a year and sit your exams, and you could be teaching DADA."

"That's not what I want to do," Harry said softly.

"You wouldn't have to put up with git features out there," Ron said.

Harry shook his head. "If it wasn't him it'd be someone else. And none of them..." He glanced quickly at Ron, who bit back a frustrated sigh.

"I'm sick of saying it, Harry. It wasn't your fault. And I'm happy – probably happier than you, actually."

"But you should have had choices, Ron. You'd have been a brilliant Auror. Or Keeper. Or anything else that -"

"You saying I'm rubbish as a trainer?"

"No!"

The look of guilt and distress deepened on Harry's face, and Ron took pity on his best friend and said, "Bloody hell, Harry, I'm joking, okay? I love what I do. I could do without the leg cramps, but honestly, mate? I reckon standing in front of that hex was the best thing I ever did. Seeing all the crap you've gone through at the department, well, I reckon I got the better end of the deal. So stop beating yourself up about it; it's right bloody annoying."

Harry gave a soft, huffing laugh and shook his head. "Sorry," he said, then he rose to his feet and continued, "Anyway, I've got to go. Probably won't be back much before midnight. You going out tonight?"

"Nah. Early night for me – busy day tomorrow."

"Oh, that's right. You're playing the Falcons. Going to wipe the floor with them?"

"Definitely. Won't know what's hit them," Ron said with a smirk. "You coming to watch?"

"Wish I could. I'm on duty all weekend." Harry opened the living room door, then turned and added, "If I don't see you before, good luck for tomorrow, okay?"

"Cheers, mate."

Ron waited until he heard Harry and Malfoy leave the house, then he stood up and made his way slowly out to the kitchen. He dished up a healthy plateful of chicken curry and rice, grabbed a couple of naan breads and a beer, and took them back into the living room. The house felt empty, suddenly too quiet, so he turned on the wireless and tuned it to the sports station, then sat listening to the commentators discussing his team's chances in the game against the Falcons while he ate.

_"...no offence to young Weasley, of course. I mean, decorated war hero, crippled when he took a hex meant for Harry Potter; no one can doubt his courage. But courage and enthusiasm can only get him so far. Alf Toohey is to be commended for taking him on, but he's inexperienced, and in my opinion his winning streak last season was a case of beginner's luck. The Falcons will walk all over them, tomorrow."_

_"You're talking out of your arse, Terry."_

Ron smiled as he recognised Lee Jordan's voice on the radio.

_"Granted, Weasley's young. And managing a couple of wins could be put down to a fluke. But nobody can deny that he's done far more than that. The Cannons only lost three games last season, ending up second in the league. They've won both the games they've played this season, and I think the Falcons are in for a rude shock. And on a personal note, Ron Weasley is a friend of mine, and I don't think he or anyone else appreciates you implying that he was only given the job out of pity. I don't think Alf would object to me saying that he knew a good thing when he saw it, and snapped up the best thing that ever happened to the Chudley Cannons."_

Cries of "Hear, hear," and clapping from the other commentators in the studio made Ron chuckle. He'd definitely have to buy Lee a drink next time he saw him. He wasn't particularly bothered by the rather patronising remarks made by the first commentator. He'd heard it all before, after all, and you needed a thick skin if you were going to survive in the world of Quidditch.

"Anybody home?"

"Hang on," Ron called out as he set his plate down on the coffee table and made his way over to the fireplace. He crouched awkwardly in front of the green flames, taking the weight on his good leg, and smiled as he saw his brother George's head floating eerily above the logs.

"A few of us are going down the pub. Thought you might fancy a drink."

Ron shook his head. "We're playing tomorrow. Early night for me, George. Thanks anyway."

"No problem. You still going to Mum and Dad's for lunch on Sunday?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Like any of us have a choice. I'll see you then."

"Okay. Oh, and good luck for tomorrow."

The green faded from the flames, and Ron carefully eased himself to his feet. He sat down again and had just picked up his plate when he heard someone knocking on the front door.

"Fucking hell, what now?" he muttered under his breath as he put his rapidly cooling dinner back on the coffee table. He stumbled as he got to his feet, wrenching his thigh muscle, and swore loudly for a moment as he massaged his leg.

Whoever was at the door knocked again.

"All right, all right, I'm fucking coming," he shouted as he limped to the front door. He wrenched it open and snarled, "What do you... Hermione?"

Hermione's eyes widened and she took a step back before seeming to collect herself with a quick shake of her head.

"Ron. I'm sorry if I disturbed you. I'll come back later."

"Don't be stupid," Ron said, waving her into the house. "Harry's not here at the moment."

"I know," Hermione said quickly. "I, er, came to see you."

They stood awkwardly in the hallway, looking determinedly at everything except each other, before Ron remembered his manners and said, "Well, I suppose you'd better come through into the living room, then."

Hermione shook her head. "I won't stay. I just came to tell you that... I thought you should know before it becomes public knowledge. I'm getting married."

"Oh. Well, right. Thanks for telling me, I suppose."

Hermione stepped forward and placed a hand on Ron's arm as she said, "I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you. I just thought -"

"Yeah," Ron interrupted, the bitterness he was feeling bleeding into his voice. "You're good at that. Thinking."

Hermione blinked, a hurt expression crossing her face. "I didn't mean to -"

"Well, you've done your duty. Told me. You should probably go, now," Ron continued, speaking over her words.

Hermione gave a little nod, her eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears, then she turned and fled, the front door slamming loudly behind her.

Ron closed his eyes as he slumped against the wall, a wave of utter weariness washing over him. He felt vaguely ashamed of the way he'd spoken to Hermione, and decided that he'd send her an owl tomorrow, congratulating her and apologising for... He huffed softly, opening his eyes as he pushed himself upright and then slowly made his way back to his chair. He had nothing to apologise for. She was the one who'd walked out on him.

He knew he'd pushed his friends away. He'd been bitter, and hurt, and angry after the war, when he'd been told that the Dark Magic residues from the hex that had crushed his spine and legs meant that he'd be a cripple for the rest of his life. He'd lashed out at both Harry and Hermione, saying...terrible things. Things he hadn't meant. Hermione had let him push her away, and Ron suspected that she'd been glad of the excuse to leave him. Harry though, well, Harry had pushed back. And he'd shouted and cajoled and bullied and coaxed Ron into the Muggle rehabilitation clinic. Had been with him every step of the way. Had never given up on him, and had never allowed Ron to give up, either.

And he'd wanted to. So many times. Because the pain had nearly killed him. Regrowing the bones had been agony, but fairly simple. Repairing the nerve and muscle damage had been a far more hit and miss affair. Spells and potions had regenerated and regrown what they could, but the spell residues limited their effectiveness. St. Mungo's had offered him sympathy and a mobility chair. The Muggles had offered him painful, lengthy therapy, hard work, and the very real possibility of walking again. The pain of working the unwilling, hex damaged muscles had had him screaming at times. But every time he'd faltered, Harry had been there, waiting to catch him, dust him off, and set him back on the right path.

With a sigh, Ron Banished his half-eaten dinner back to the kitchen, his appetite gone. A hot bath, a muscle relaxant potion and then bed were the only things he needed right at that moment. Well, the only things he needed that he could actually have.

He picked up his beer and took a swig, and as he tipped his head back his eye was drawn to something moving on the mantelpiece. A slight smile curved his lips as he dumped his beer bottle back onto the coffee table and rose to his feet.

His smile widened as he picked up the photograph from the mantelpiece. It was taken on the day he'd been discharged from the rehab centre. Harry had brought along a wizarding camera to take some pictures of Ron. Then one of the staff, a camera enthusiast as it turned out, had offered to take a picture of both of them. He'd had no trouble working the rather odd-looking camera, happily accepting Harry's story that he was a bit of tinkerer in his spare time and had built it himself. Ron clearly remembered that picture being taken; standing on his own two feet in the sunlight, smiling like an idiot at the camera, Harry by his side.

Ron huffed softly and shook his head as he carefully replaced the photograph. He really did need to send an owl, apologising to Hermione. His knee-jerk reaction to her news had been cruel and unwarranted. He'd actually been somewhat relieved when she'd gone to university. It had taken him a long time to admit that to himself. Their relationship had been on the rocks long before he'd been injured, and if she'd stayed it would only have been out of guilt, or pity, or a sense of responsibility, and they'd have ended up hating each other.

He was happy. He had a job he loved, good friends and a loving family. And Harry – the best mate in the world. He was a lucky man, and he knew it. It was time to let go of old hurts and mend some fences.

He made his way out to the kitchen, got out some parchment and a quill, and sat down to write a long-overdue letter.

--

_"...and the Cannons win! The Cannons win! We'll take you now, live, to the team's rooms and see if we can manage to have a word with their trainer, Ron Weasley. Over to you, Lee."_

_"Thanks, David. Well, the team are just finishing their lap of honour, and I can see Ron talking now with Alf Toohey, team manager. They're looking very pleased with themselves and they have every right to be. I'll see if -"_

Click.

"I was bloody listening to that," Harry protested.

"I agreed to man the desk so that you could listen to the match, Potter. The match is over, and we have a..." Malfoy's nose wrinkled slightly as he cast an eye over the oddly-dressed woman waiting at the reception desk, "visitor. Off you go."

Harry reluctantly rose to his feet. An elderly woman stood at the reception desk, a determined look on her face. Grey, whispy hair fought to escape from under the shapeless patchwork hat that had been dragged over it, and her cloak had definitely seen better days.

"Good afternoon, madam. What's the trouble?"

"Someone's been hexing my kneazles, young man. It's Death Eaters, I'm sure of it."

"Death Eaters?"

In the face of Harry's obvious incredulity, the old woman seemed to falter slightly.

"Well, it might have been Mr. Pickles next door. He said something about them scratching up all the plants in his garden. As if my darlings would do such a thing! But I asked him and he denied it," she said, rallying again somewhat, "so it must have been Death Eaters!"

Harry sighed once more as he took out a form and attached it to a clipboard. He picked up his quill, dipped it into the inkwell, then said, "Right. If I could just have a few details..."

Harry mechanically took the woman's name and address and assured her that they would check that there were no Death Eaters lurking around her back garden, then gave a sigh of relief as she finally departed.

"Not rushing off to save the innocent little kitties from the big bad Death Eaters, Potter?"

"Get fucked, Malfoy."

"Your rapier-sharp wit wounds me to the core."

"Don't start. I'm not in the mood." Harry dropped the clipboard onto the desk and slumped into the chair next to Malfoy's. "This is a waste of our bloody time. We should be out there, not stuck behind the sodding reception desk. I mean, what is the fucking point?"

"The point, Potter, is for you and I to learn to get along without hexing each other. I'm quite certain Robards spoke English when he explained this, so I fail to see why you're having such difficulty grasping the concept."

"I should just fucking quit," Harry muttered.

Malfoy cocked his head and fixed Harry with a stern look.

"That is precisely what you are not going to do. I for one have worked far too hard to get where I am, and I'm not going to have my efforts sabotaged by you. Robards has made it quite clear that this is your last chance, and I'm stuck with you. So we will work together. You brought this on yourself, you know. You have managed to intimidate every other Auror in the department, so nobody else will work with you. It's entirely your own fault. So you will keep your whining to yourself and serve out this idiotic adjustment period with good grace. We only have to keep our mouths shut and our noses clean until Friday, and then he has to put us back on active duty. Do I make myself clear?"

Harry huffed loudly, then slumped back in his chair. He scrubbed his hands over his face, then finally nodded.

"Right. You're right." Then he frowned and said, "Hang on a bloody minute, Robards said it was _our _last chance, so don't get all high and bloody mighty with me, Malfoy. You're not exactly Mr. Popularity yourself, you know?"

Malfoy sniffed, then glared at Harry as he said, "I can hardly be held responsible for being the victim of prejudice. The fact that my background is held against me and my motives are questioned by -"

"That's bollocks and you know it!" Harry said triumphantly. "You're a stuck-up, poncy prat who annoys the fuck out of everyone and trips over his own feet. That's why nobody wants you as their partner. Or so I've heard."

"Fuck you, Potter."

"In your dreams, Malfoy."

"More your line than mine, isn't it, or so the gossips would have it? Should I be worried?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, but the hesitant smile on Malfoy's face appeared genuine and his tone had lacked the sharp edge that Harry had expected.

"Your virtue is perfectly safe with me," Harry said dryly.

"Oh, I don't doubt it. Your ridiculous Gryffindor principles will ensure that. But I know you lust after me, Potter. You're only human, after all, and who could resist this?" Malfoy said, spreading his arms in a theatrical gesture as he looked down at his own chest. "And you have to admit, my arse is the pinnacle of perfection. Sadly, however, it will forever be beyond your reach, as I am utterly and irrevocably straight."

Then he reached out and patted Harry's arm, a look of deep sympathy on his face. Harry gaped for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"You are unbelievable."

"I try," Malfoy said with a grin. Then he huffed softly and his expression became serious. "Pott- Harry. I know having me as your partner seems like a punishment to you. But..." He paused, as though searching for the right words, then glanced around quickly before continuing, "My name and my family's...past associations have made things somewhat difficult for me here. Loath as I am to admit it, having you as a partner is probably the best thing that has happened since I joined the department. I know that we're not exactly friends, but -"

"You can say that again," Harry muttered.

And just for a moment, something flickered in Malfoy's eyes before he quickly schooled his features once more to show nothing but his customary expression of mild disdain for the world in general. If Harry didn't know better he'd swear it was...disappointment?

"Yes," Malfoy sneered. "But you would not allow that to get in the way of the job at hand, Potter, which is more than I can say about some of my previous partners. At least I can certain that I won't have to watch my back all the time with you. You've never been cowardly enough to -" He stopped speaking abruptly and pushed himself to his feet. "I think we need some coffee."

Harry frowned as he watched Malfoy stride away. He wanted to call him back and demand that he explain what the hell he was talking about. He would never hex anyone in the back, even... Harry slowly shook his head as the realisation of what Malfoy was saying sank in. Surely no one in the department would deliberately curse their own partner? It was unthinkable. But as Harry considered Malfoy's words, snippets of conversations that he'd overheard suddenly began to make sense, and Harry felt a rush of shame as he realised what he'd unthinkingly condoned. He'd laughed along as others had mocked Malfoy's apparent incompetence, for surely that was the reason he couldn't spend a day in the field without getting injured; everyone said so.

"Fuck," Harry spat. What sort of Auror was he? His job was to protect people, and that included his fellow Aurors. Malfoy had been deliberately victimised by his own colleagues and Harry had not paid enough attention to notice. All the signs were there. It was blindingly obvious now that he knew. How on earth had he missed it?

The sick feeling of shame intensified as he realised that he had let his dislike of Malfoy blind him to the reality of the man's situation. Why hadn't Robards done something about it?

He huffed softly as the realisation hit him. Robards had done something. He'd assigned Malfoy as Harry's partner. No one would dare try anything while Malfoy was with him. And Malfoy was obviously well aware of this. He was trying to be pleasant, even friendly, in his own inimitable, Malfoyesque way.

"Here."

Harry looked up in surprise to see Malfoy standing in front of him, offering him a steaming mug.

"Thanks," Harry said as he took the proffered coffee. "Look, Malfoy, I'm sorry. I had no idea. I really didn't know that the others were -"

"I have no idea what you're blathering about," Malfoy interrupted. "But you are disturbingly unobservant, so I have no doubt that you are unaware of almost everything beyond the blindingly obvious, Potter."

The sneering tone was classic Malfoy. But the tentative smile on his face told Harry that Malfoy understood what he was saying. And also that he clearly didn't want to talk about it.

"Yeah, whatever. And the name's Harry. We're a team, now, Malfoy."

"You should probably call me Draco, in that case," he replied. "Now that, as you say, we are a team."

Harry shot Draco a grin, raised his coffee mug in salute, and laughed as Draco rolled his eyes and muttered something uncomplimentary about Gryffindors under his breath.

--

Harry Apparated into the hallway of the cottage he shared with Ron, then immediately made his way to the kitchen. He opened the fridge, took out a beer and then wandered into the living room. The room was in darkness, lit only by the flickering firelight, so it took Harry a few moments to realise that Ron was sitting in the armchair, sound asleep.

This wouldn't normally have been that unusual. But it was Saturday night, and more to the point, a Saturday night when the whole Quidditch team should be out celebrating their win. Ron should have been onto his fourth pint at least by this time of night. In fact, Harry had intended to get changed and go to the pub to join him. After the week he'd had, getting roaring drunk had sounded like a wonderful idea.

Harry put his beer on the coffee table and squatted down next to Ron's chair. He looked drawn and tired, his brow furrowed even in sleep, and Harry felt the familiar ache in his chest intensify. He clenched his fists, fighting against the urge to reach out and touch Ron. He wanted to stroke his brow to ease away the furrows. He wanted to wrap his arms around him and hold him close; kiss away the shadows Ron's constant pain left on his face.

"I love you," Harry whispered as he gazed at Ron, drinking him in, making the most of the moment. He had to be so careful. He constantly fought against the urge to simply stare at him and lose himself in those bright blue eyes. And the temptation to let his hand linger on Ron's arm, to prolong their casual touches, was almost too much to bear at times.

While it wasn't something he advertised, Harry didn't go out of his way to hide the fact that he was gay. His friends knew, and the people he worked with, obviously; Aurors couldn't afford to have secrets like that. And really, it wasn't that much of an issue because Harry hadn't dated since... He shook his head. He'd made a couple of disastrous attempts and given it up as a bad job. It didn't matter, though, because Ron was the only one he wanted. Unfortunately, Ron didn't seem to feel the same way about him.

He sighed softly as he watched Ron sleep. The odd thing about their situation was that they did everything a couple would, apart from sleep together. Harry went along to Ron's Quidditch team's nights out down the pub, and Ron came along when the Aurors had a night out. They took turns cooking, came home and talked to each other about their day. Went to the Burrow for Sunday lunch every week – when Harry's roster allowed. It seemed to be generally assumed that Harry and Ron came as a pair, which quite suited Harry, really, as he had no interest in going out with anyone else. But then, neither did Ron, apparently.

Harry frowned. He'd never really given it much thought, before. But while Ron seemed happy enough chatting to girls while they were out, he seemed totally oblivious to the fact that they were flirting with him. And at the end of the evening, either of them would catch the other's eye, and they would finish up their drinks and leave together. Without fail. Had Harry been missing something significant all this time? It suddenly occurred to him that, although Ron knew Harry was gay, he had actually gone out of his way to ensure that Ron did not suspect that Harry fancied him, scared that it would ruin their friendship. What if Ron felt the same way? What if -

"Harry?"

"Hey, mate. You okay?" Harry said, firmly pushing his new-found revelations to one side. He'd think about them later. Right now, he had to take care of Ron.

"Um, yeah." Ron squinted as he glanced around the room. "What time is it?"

"About half nine. I've just got in. Everything okay? I expected you to be out celebrating your win."

"Wasn't in the mood," Ron muttered as he gripped the arms of his chair and pulled himself into a more upright position. He fumbled for his wand and muttered, "_Lumos_," and then blinked as the room grew suddenly brighter.

"Have you eaten, yet?"

"Yeah, had dinner with the team."

"That's good. Now, do you need a potion or something?"

Ron huffed loudly. "I'm fine. Stop bloody fussing, will you?" he said sharply.

"I'm not -"

"Sorry, sorry," Ron interrupted. He scrubbed his hands over his face, then said, "I didn't mean to snap at you. Just tired. Stuff on my mind. And... I saw Hermione last night."

Harry's heart sank. "I thought you stayed home?"

"I did. She came to see me. She's getting married. Said she wanted to tell me before everyone else found out."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Ron."

Ron shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

"If you want to talk -"

"No. There's nothing to talk about. It's not like I wasn't expecting her to get married sooner or later. And... It doesn't really bother me any more."

Harry's immediate thought was that if it truly didn't bother Ron, then why was he sitting at home, brooding? He wasn't stupid enough to say that, though it must have shown on his face, because Ron continued, "I really am okay, Harry. It stung a bit when she told me, but I've been thinking about it and quite honestly, it's time I let it go, you know?"

"Really?"

Ron smiled, a crooked grin that always made the breath catch in Harry's throat.

"Yeah. Really. In fact, I sent her an owl congratulating her, and told her we should get together sometime. The three of us. Like old times."

Harry reached out and gripped Ron's shoulder. He gave it a quick squeeze and said, "That's brilliant, mate. She'll – she'll appreciate that. She's missed you, you know?"

"Yeah. I've been a bit of a prat about it, haven't I," Ron stated. He waved away Harry's automatic protest and continued, "Yeah, I have. Hanging on to an old grudge for no good reason. Stupid really."

"So if it's not Hermione, then why -"

"Just a bit tired, that's all. Bloody hell, Harry, I wasn't sitting here brooding. I had dinner and a couple of pints with the team, just wasn't in the mood to get pissed, that's all." Ron turned a look of fond exasperation on Harry as he added, "You're such a mother hen, mate. I'm fine. Really. Came home, sat down and just fell asleep. Must have been more tired than I thought. Anyway, what about you? How was your day?"

"Frustrating, tediously pointless and boring as all fuck. Me and Malfoy are stuck on the desk for the rest of the week so we can bond as a team."

"Sooner you than me, mate."

"Yeah, well, we can't all be high flyers in the glamorous world of professional Quidditch."

Ron chuckled. "I'm the trainer. It's hardly glamorous, trust me. Unlike our dashing Aurors, keeping the world safe for -"

"Ha bloody ha," Harry interrupted. He pushed himself to his feet and said, "Any of that curry left from last night?"

"Should be," Ron said after a moment. "While you're up, you couldn't turn on the wireless and bring us back a beer, could you?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "What'd your last one die of?" he muttered as he switched on the wireless and then went in search of curry.

As Harry heated up his dinner, his thoughts turned to Hermione.

He clearly remembered the day that she had told him that she was leaving. Ron had still been in St. Mungo's, and Harry had been staying at the Burrow. Well, he slept there. He spent his days at Ron's bedside. As had Hermione, at first.

Now, Harry would be the first to admit that Ron hadn't reacted well when the Healers had finally told him that they had done everything they could, but that the damage was too extensive and he would never walk again. Disbelief had quickly given way to anger, and he'd lashed out and verbally abused everyone within earshot. Hermione had burst into tears and ran from the room, and Harry had followed and found her sobbing out in the corridor. He'd taken her to the pub and had the second bombshell of the day dropped on him: Hermione was leaving. She'd been offered a place at Cambridge University, in one of the magical colleges, and she had accepted. She'd pleaded with Harry to understand.

And he had, once his initial anger at her had abated. Hermione was no Molly Weasley. Her life would never revolve around home and children. She belonged in academia, and staying with Ron out of a misplaced sense of duty would have done nobody any favours. So he'd hugged her, told her he understood, and wished her well. What else could he have done? He had offered to tell Ron, but she had said that she owed it to him to tell him herself. And she had. She'd sat firmly at his bedside and let him rage and heap abuse on her head, never once attempting to defend her actions, then quietly apologised and left. Harry had waited outside in the corridor for her, and held her while she'd sobbed her heart out. Once she'd calmed down again, she'd handed Harry a large envelope, saying that she'd done what she did best, and that she was giving him the results of her research and hoped it would help.

It had. It would never have occurred to Harry to consider going to the Muggle world for help, but as he'd read through the brochures and copious pages of notes that Hermione had given him, Harry knew that she had come through for Ron. In her own way.

The staff at St. Mungo's had been highly indignant, and Ron's family dubious and suspicious, but Harry had brooked no argument. He'd stated his case firmly and clearly: Muggles didn't have magic, so had developed other ways to heal injuries. Magic had let Ron down, so they had nothing to lose and everything to gain by giving the Muggle therapies a try.

Harry had booked Ron into the private residential rehabilitation centre that Hermione had recommended. He had never been more grateful for his family's fortune than when he'd found out how much it was going to cost, as there was no way the Weasleys would have been able to afford it. Not that they ever found out, of course. Harry had simply told them that all Muggle medicine was free, and if anyone had had any suspicions to the contrary, they had kept them to themselves.

Ron had spent six months there. Harry had taken him in in a wheelchair, but he had walked out on his own. Harry smiled as he remembered the look of triumph on Ron's face as he'd walked into the Burrow that day. He'd been so proud of him. Ron still attended an outpatients clinic there for therapy once a month, and probably would for some time to come, but they'd achieved something that St. Mungo's had deemed impossible, and Harry would be forever grateful to them for that. And to Hermione, for finding them.

"You brewing it yourself or what?"

Harry gave a start, turning quickly to see Ron standing next to him. He'd been so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed him come into the kitchen.

"Sorry, mate," Harry said with a sheepish grin. He opened the bottle of beer that he'd left on the kitchen cabinet and handed it to Ron, then picked up his now-hot dinner and followed Ron back into the living room.

Predictably, Ron had found a Quidditch match on the wireless, and Harry happily settled down to spend a quiet evening at home with the man he loved.

--

The sound of laughter drifting out through the open kitchen door greeted Ron as he arrived home. He bit back a curse and quietly made his way upstairs. He'd had enough of being nice to "call me Draco" bloody Malfoy.

Ron had grown accustomed to finding Malfoy cluttering up the house when he got home from work. He and Harry seemed to be becoming friends, and Ron wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, Harry seemed happier and more relaxed than he had for ages. He and Malfoy had been partners now for almost three months and it looked like things were finally settling down for Harry at work. But on the other hand, it was Malfoy.

Not that the git was being particularly obnoxious or anything. In fact, it was almost as though he were going out of his way to be nice to Ron, being friendly and polite. Which made it worse, in an odd sort of way. Because Ron didn't want to like him. He found himself growing more and more irritated at finding Malfoy hanging around Harry all the time. It seemed like he and Harry never got any time alone, any more.

Ron hung up his jacket, slipped off his shoes, jammed his feet into his slippers, and opened the bedroom door.

As he slowly and carefully made his way down the stairs, Harry's voice drifted up.

"...call him Weasel."

"Of course not! After all, if I'm going to be family -"

"Sure of yourself, aren't you?"

"And why not? I'm gorgeous. Rich, eligible, irresistible. I mean, look at this arse. Who wouldn't want that?"

"It's a very nice arse, Draco. but -"

"But what?"

"But there's more to a successful relationship than having a nice arse."

Ron could hear the laughter in Harry's voice, and found himself smiling.

"Well obviously, but it definitely helps, right? Now, I was thinking of starting with dinner. The Maitre d' at Marcellino's owes me a favour."

Ron heard a low whistle, then Harry said, "Wow, going all out, eh?"

Draco chuckled. "Of course! An intimate, romantic dinner for two, dancing, and then a quiet nightcap at my London flat. What do you think?"

"Sounds lovely."

Ron stood abruptly, not remembering when he'd sank down to sit on the stairs. He grimaced at the sudden pull on his sore thigh muscle, and as quickly as he could he stumbled back to his bedroom and dropped down onto the bed, stunned.

Harry was going out with Malfoy? Why the hell would he do that? There had to be better blokes than the Ferret out there, surely. Although... Harry hadn't dated much. He'd had a couple of bad experiences and had seemed to give up on the whole thing. But Malfoy? Ron hadn't even known that he liked blokes. Although the way he carried on about his hair and his poncy ways, it wouldn't have surprised Ron one bit.

He felt a sudden surge of anger. It all made sense. The Ferret had been on his best behaviour, charming and witty – even Ron had to admit that. Hanging around Harry, acting all friendly, when all the time he just wanted to...to...

Ron exhaled explosively. He hated to think of Harry being used like that. He really seemed to like Malfoy, and he even seemed to trust him. And all the time the devious bastard was only trying to get his end away. Bagging the Saviour of the Wizarding World would be quite a coup. Well, Ron was on to him. Harry had to be desperate to consider going out with Malfoy, so all Ron had to do was find Harry someone else. Someone better. How hard could it be?

He Summoned a quill and some parchment, and then stared at the blank sheet as he racked his brain. Who did he know who was gay? As he ran through the names in his head, he found himself dismissing each one. None of them was right for Harry. None of them knew him, or deserved him. And the thought of any of them touching Harry as though they had the right was...

There was a loud snapping noise, and Ron looked down in surprise to see that his hands were clenched into fists. The quill was broken in two and he'd torn the parchment.

Ron frowned. He was being selfish. It wasn't about what he wanted. Harry had obviously decided that he was ready to start going out again, and who was Ron to begrudge him that? Harry had put his life on hold for him. He'd been at the rehab centre every day, working with Ron and encouraging him. He'd gone out and bought this cottage, making the magical modifications that Ron had needed, giving him somewhere to go when he'd started having weekends away from the centre after he'd been there a month. And when Ron had been deemed sufficiently mobile enough to leave, Harry had insisted that he move in. Which Ron had agreed to enthusiastically. The thought of moving back to the Burrow and having his mum fussing around him and treating him like an invalid had not been in the least appealing.

His mum had not been happy at that decision, but even she had had to eventually concede that Ron needed his independence, and that it was indeed doing him good to have to fend for himself. Though he was hardly doing that. Harry took care of him.

Ron sighed. Harry always took care of him. But now it was Ron's turn. Banishing the broken quill and torn parchment, Ron flopped back on the bed, settling himself comfortably and folding his hands behind his head. Then he slowly began reviewing all the men he'd previously dismissed as not good enough for Harry. He gave each one a great deal of thought, weighing their good and bad points, and felt an odd sort of satisfaction as each was found wanting and dismissed once again. The thought of any of them going out with Harry made something tighten unpleasantly in Ron's chest.

Finally, he huffed loudly and pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed once more. Not really wanting to dwell on why he found the thought of someone going out with Harry unsettling, Ron decided that he was probably going about things the wrong way. He didn't need to find Harry a boyfriend. He hadn't gone out looking for one, after all, and seemed quite happy with the way things were – or had, until Malfoy had stuck his pointy nose in. So all he had to do was warn Malfoy off. End of problem.

Feeling much happier now that he'd come up with a plan of action that didn't involve setting Harry up with some random bloke, Ron found himself whistling as he carefully made his way down the stairs again. He hoped Harry had remembered that it was his turn to cook dinner. Ron was starving.

--

"Coffee?"

"That'd be great, thanks," Ron said as he settled himself into the comfortable armchair.

Dr Andrew Harwood, the Clinic's psychiatrist, added milk and two sugars to one of the cups in front of him, then handed it to Ron before sitting down himself.

"So how have you been?"

"Fine."

Andrew nodded, then picked up a large, beige file folder from the coffee table and flipped it open.

"Physio are very happy with your progress. Sarah's noted here that you have access to another physiotherapist at work?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah. Marie. She's really good."

"Excellent. Apparently she's doing good work, because Sarah is very pleased with your muscle tone and endurance."

Ron snorted. "Sarah thinks she's training me to run a marathon. I couldn't feel my legs by the time she let me off that bloody treadmill."

Andrew chuckled. "She's a slavedriver, no argument there. Now, have you had any more problems with numbness or tingling?"

Ron shook his head. "Not for a while, now."

"Good, good. And everything working as it should? No problem achieving or maintaining an erection? No pain, numbness, tingling?"

Ron cleared his throat nervously as he fought to keep his cheeks from burning. Andrew's gaze never left the sheet of paper he was reading, however, which made it slightly less embarrassing for Ron as he said, "Er, no. Everything seems to be okay."

"Well, that's good news, then."

"Yeah," Ron agreed weakly. He felt intensely uncomfortable talking about such personal issues. The Muggle medical staff were much more open about such things than any Healer would ever be, and Ron supposed that that was a good thing, really. Because he would never have dreamt of raising the topic on his own, no matter how worried he was. The Muggles, though, had asked point blank, and had talked of nerve damage and trauma, and made the whole thing sound rather normal and only to be expected. They'd assured him that, as his condition improved, so would his sexual function. And they were right – to a point. But there was a limit to what Ron was prepared to discuss, and the fact that he seemed to have no interest in sex whatsoever was definitely off limits. He was physically capable of having an erection, and that was all they needed to know.

Andrew continued to read, and Ron watched him over the rim of his cup. He had been initially wary about speaking to the Muggle mind healer. His view had been that it was his body that was damaged, not his head. But Andrew hadn't pushed. He'd simply sat and chatted, and Ron had found himself talking. He'd had to be careful, of course. Harry had provided a cover story that the Muggles would find plausible to account for Ron's injuries and Ron had been worried in case he forgot and said the wrong thing. Andrew hadn't asked about that, though. He'd explained to Ron that he understood how difficult life could be for people in Ron's situation, and that his job was to listen and offer advice, if he could.

Ron had been unconvinced, at first. But as time wore on he came to appreciate being able to talk about the pain and frustration and anger to someone who showed no pity or guilt at his words. Andrew's feelings weren't hurt when Ron ranted and lashed out, and the man had a dry sense of humour that seemed to lighten Ron's worst moods. But he was also very perceptive, and Ron suspected that he knew more than he let on, at times.

"So, shall I play twenty questions, or do you want to just tell me what's bothering you?"

Ron blinked, startled to find that Andrew had closed the folder and was now watching him, a smile on his face.

"What? I told you. I'm fine."

Andrew leant forward and peered at Ron over the top of his glasses as he said, "Ron, I've known you for more than two years now, right?"

Ron rolled his eyes. Whenever he tried to avoid talking, Andrew would trot out his 'see how well I know you' speech.

"I've seen you at your best, and at your worst. So don't you think I know you well enough by now to know when something is bothering you?"

Ron sighed loudly. "Look, it's nothing. It's... It's just me being stupid."

Andrew simply settled back with his 'I'm listening' expression firmly in place, and Ron sighed again.

"Right. Fine. It's... I think Harry's interesting in someone. Going out with them, I mean."

Andrew frowned. "Do you know this for certain, or is it just something you suspect?"

Ron exhaled softly. "Well, not for certain, I suppose. I overheard them talking. Remember I told you that Harry's got a new partner at work?"

Andrew nodded. Ron had told him that Harry worked for a covert government law enforcement organisation that Ron was also peripherally involved with; it served to stem awkward questions and account for the lack of Muggle records.

Ron continued, "They never got on. Before, I mean. But they've been working together for about three months, now, and... Well, Harry seems to like him. And he's always hanging around the house, you know? He's just always there. I come home and instead of just the two of us he's -" Ron stopped abruptly, suddenly aware of what he'd been saying. He sounded like a jealous girlfriend instead of a mate. He took a sip of his coffee, waiting for Andrew to point out that Harry had a life and Ron needed to get one too. But Andrew didn't say anything, and after a moment Ron looked up. Andrew was still watching him, as though waiting for Ron to continue. Ron shrugged.

"Have you spoken to Harry about this?" Andrew asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Of course not!"

"Why not?"

"Well, it's none of my business is it, really?"

But even as he said the words, something inside him denied them. Harry was _his_, and Malfoy had no right trying to worm his way into -

"Ron?"

Ron's head snapped up. "Sorry. Thinking about stuff."

"That's okay. Do you need some time?"

Ron shook his head. "No, go on. What were you saying?"

"I was asking why you felt it was none of your business. You've never really discussed your relationship with Harry so I'm not sure what you see as acceptable. The thought that he might be seeing someone else is obviously causing you some distress, however, so I'd like to talk with you about that."

Ron frowned. "Distressed? I'm not... I'm not upset about it. It's just that Malf- this bloke's a bit of a git, and I don't trust him."

Andrew's gaze was steady, and he tapped his pen on the folder on his lap for a moment before saying, "So if it was someone else, it wouldn't bother you?"

The automatic retort that rose to Ron's lips died unvoiced under the weight of Andrew's gaze. Because it would bother him. And he wasn't sure that he wanted to think about why that was.

"Harry obviously cares very deeply for you, Ron. I've only spoken to him a handful of times, but his focus on your wellbeing and his concern for you were made abundantly clear to me. As was his deep regard and affection for you. I believe that, were he made aware of your feelings, he would not act in any way that would make you uncomfortable or distress you. Many people will take silence to signify tacit agreement, you understand?" Andrew paused, then shook his head and with a chuckle continued, "What I'm trying to say is, he's not a mind-reader. If you had previously agreed to an open relationship, but now find that you want to change your mind about that, you need to tell him."

Ron nodded absently, his thoughts still on Malfoy, so his attention was not completely on what Andrew was saying. He almost dropped his cup, however, and dumped it hastily on the coffee table as the psychiatrist's words finally sank in.

"You think Harry and I are living together?"

Andrew frowned. "You do live together, Ron," he said slowly. "Unless... Have you moved out?"

"No! We still... That's not what I meant! Yeah, we live together, but not like that."

A flicker of something that Ron could have sworn was disappointment crossed Andrew's face as he said, "If you say so, Ron."

"I do," Ron snapped out, not bothering to conceal the irritation he felt. Andrew had somehow managed to tap into Ron's confusion about his feelings towards Harry and, not for the first time, Ron wondered if the man were somehow a Muggle Legilimens.

Andrew leant back in his chair. He tapped his pen absently on the file folder as the silence dragged on, and finally said, "I'd hoped that I'd earned your trust, Ron, but obviously it is up to you what is discussed in these sessions. I can only reiterate that whatever you tell me is held in the highest confidence. No one can access your records without your express permission."

Ron suppressed a sigh. "I know that, Andrew. And it's not about not trusting you. It's just... Look, we're really not together that way, but..." Ron worried his bottom lip as he tried to force some order on the confused jumble of thoughts in his head. The initial shock of Andrew's words had worn off – rather quickly, actually, leaving Ron with the odd impression that he had merely given voice to something that Ron had already known, on some level.

But he wasn't gay. Was he? Ron's brow furrowed as he thought about that. If someone had asked him, Ron would have said that he was straight. Probably. Going out with Lavender and Hermione would seem to point that way. But then, Harry had gone out with Cho and Ginny before finally deciding he was gay. Ron sighed. Since the war he hadn't actually been interested in anybody at all. He loved his job and enjoyed socialising with the team. Plenty of women, and a few men, now he came to think of it, seemed interested in him. But a bit of mild flirting was as far as Ron wanted to go. He always went home to Harry.

His thoughts stuttered to a halt at the sudden revelation. He didn't just go home. He went home to Harry. And Harry was always there. He knew Harry loved him; Harry coming home from work was as subtle as the Knight Bus arriving, yet he still seemed to believe that Ron slept through the whispered declarations he made. But was he just saying he loved him as a friend or did he want more? Because Andrew's blithe assumptions, coupled with Ron's reaction to the thought of Harry going out with anyone else, had forced Ron to face the fact that Harry was obviously more to him than just his best mate.

He raised his cup absently to his lips and realised that it was empty. And that's when he noticed that Andrew was still sitting quietly opposite him, watching him. Ron had become so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he had forgotten where he was.

"Sorry, Andrew, I just... I've got some things I really need to think about."

Andrew waved his apology away, saying, "That's why we're here, Ron. I think I somewhat inadvertently pointed out something that you weren't quite ready to deal with."

"Sort of," Ron said with a shrug. "I think... I think I knew, really. I just hadn't..." His voice trailed off.

Andrew nodded. "Human beings are creatures of habit, Ron. We tend not to question or think about most of what happens in our lives. The routine of day-to-day living. Friends, family, work. They just are. Until something, or someone, comes along that threatens some aspect of our life. Suddenly we have to reassess, rethink, react. And occasionally we learn something new that we had never suspected about ourselves and the things that are important to us. We see things in a new light. But it is up to us what we do with that new understanding. We can act on it, or let the opportunity slip from our grasp."

"Yeah," Ron said softly. Andrew was right. He and Harry would have probably continued on as they were if Malfoy hadn't stuck his nose in. But he had, and now Ron had to decide what to do next.

"We can discuss this further, if you wish. Or the meditation room is free if you'd like some time to yourself."

"No," Ron said quickly. "No, that's fine." He put the empty cup down on the coffee table and rose to his feet. "I need to go home. I have to talk to Harry."

--

By the time Ron got home, however, his new-found determination had abandoned him, and he was relieved to find the house empty. Not that he had really expected Harry to be home. Occasionally he got a Friday rostered off, but not this week, although he did have the weekend off, which was a nice change. And Ron's appointments were scheduled for weeks when the team weren't playing, so they would have the weekend together. Which worked out perfectly, Ron thought nervously.

He glanced at the clock. It was just after four and he knew that Harry wouldn't be home until well after six, which gave him a little breathing space. He made some tea, the familiar routine somewhat comforting in the face of his unsettling thoughts. He had to talk to Harry. Malfoy was sniffing around and wasn't the sort to just give up, so he knew he couldn't afford to wait. Besides, Ron knew himself well enough to know that if he waited, gave himself time to think about things, he'd end up getting cold feet and talking himself out of it. And if he wanted to keep Harry, he couldn't allow that to happen.

Ron took his tea through into the living room and turned on the wireless. A gardening program was on, and he let the chatter about the best time to plant spring bulbs fade into the background as he sipped his tea.

The thought of talking to Harry gave Ron an odd sort of flip-flopping feeling in his stomach. He toyed briefly with the idea of skipping the talking altogether and taking a more direct approach. The flip-flopping increased markedly at that thought, however, and Ron took a deep, calming breath.

Since the war, his libido had been practically non-existent. Andrew had explained that it was normal after such a traumatic injury, and nothing to worry about. Ron had had other things on his mind at the time so hadn't really noticed the absence until he'd woken up hard one morning and realised that that hadn't happened since he'd been hexed. But even now, over two years later, that was still the only time he masturbated. A few quick tugs in the shower in the morning, just another thing to do - on par with cleaning his teeth and brushing his hair. And for the first time, that fact rather worried him. Granted, his job was very physically demanding, and he took a muscle relaxing potion every night that sent him to sleep almost instantly. But shouldn't he have missed it? And more to the point, how would it effect his attempts at taking things further with Harry?

Ron took a sip of his tea as he considered the question of sex. He'd slept with Hermione a few times, and rather enjoyed it, as he recalled. But the thought of sleeping with her now left him cold. Not that he was completely disinterested. Now that he was actually thinking about sex, he was aware that he did want it, in an abstract, orgasms-are-good sort of way. It just hadn't really seemed all that important. The demands of work, family, physical therapy, friends – and of course, Harry – had meant that Ron rarely had the time or energy to give it more than a passing thought. And as he hadn't actually been particularly interested in anyone in that way, it had never really been an issue. Well, not until now, anyway.

Actually, he'd been a little surprised that the thought of initiating a sexual relationship with Harry hadn't sent him running for the hills, given that he'd always assumed he was straight. He couldn't honestly say that he'd ever really fancied a bloke, but then he couldn't say that he actually fancied any women right at that moment, either.

Ron sighed loudly. This wasn't getting him anywhere. But the thought of trying to start something with Harry and then freezing up, or worse, not reacting at all, wasn't something he wanted to contemplate. There had to be something... He drained his cup, dumped it onto the coffee table and then, acting on a sudden impulse, Ron pushed himself to his feet and went upstairs. He hesitated for a moment, then opened Harry's bedroom door and went in. He found what he was looking for in the bottom drawer of Harry's bedside cabinet. He rummaged through and pulled out one of the magazines from the bottom of the pile; its absence being less likely to be noticed, Ron hoped. Then he quickly shut the drawer before he could change his mind, and took the magazine into his own bedroom.

Feeling somewhat self-conscious, Ron warded the door and then sat on the edge of the bed. He took a deep breath, then kicked off his shoes and slipped off his jeans. He settled himself comfortably on the bed, tucking several pillows under his head and shoulders, and then picked up the magazine and began leafing through it. He had a couple of porn magazines of his own stashed away somewhere, but if he wanted to seduce Harry... Ron giggled nervously at the thought then shook his head at his own stupidity. He wasn't going to get far if he couldn't even think about it. So, he wanted to go to bed with Harry. Which meant he needed a trial run – and his own imagination, his right hand and a gay porn mag for inspiration. _Bouncy Babes on Broomsticks_ wasn't going to be any help for the purposes of this particular experiment.

The scantily dressed men in the pictures looked bored, although one or two of them perked up, looking oddly surprised as Ron paused to look at them. As Ron turned the pages he found himself feeling vaguely uncomfortable. None of the pictures held his interest and he was beginning to think that perhaps he'd made a mistake when he came to a rather wrinkled page. Its inhabitant looked cross, glaring at Ron, who quickly turned the page.

His jaw dropped. The picture was spread over two pages, and a banner at the top read: After the Game. The setting was the changing rooms – after a Quidditch match, presumably. A red-headed man was leaning against the changing room wall. He was wearing Quidditch gear and his broom was propped up against the wall next to him. On the opposite page was a dark haired man with a towel wrapped around his waist. He looked like he'd just stepped out of the shower. They both looked up at Ron and grinned.

Judging by the rumpled state of the pages this was obviously one of Harry's favourites, and Ron huffed softly as any doubts he might have had as to whether Harry actually fancied him were firmly put to rest.

Ron snapped his mouth shut as the characters began to play out their scene. The red-head began to slowly unlace his Quidditch gloves as the dark haired man approached him. Ron gave a soft gasp as the man dropped to his knees and took over the unlacing. Once the gloves were off, he turned his attention to the red-head's trousers and began unlacing them. With his teeth. Ron barely breathed as he watched them. The red-head's hands moved to card through the messy black hair, and Ron moaned along with the red-head as the lacing finally gave way and the full red lips wrapped around the finally-freed flesh.

"Fucking hell, that's hot," Ron muttered. He shifted on the bed, then his eyes widened as he realised why he was feeling a bit uncomfortable. He was hard, and trapped awkwardly by his tight underpants. He slipped them off, then wrapped his hand around himself. Resisting the temptation to just get off as quickly as he could, he ran his fingers slowly up and down his length, finally allowing himself to enjoy the sensation. After a minute or so he moved his hand down to cup his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze before returning his hand back up again. He released a shuddering breath, then slowly began to move his hand, fisting himself in time to the dark head bobbing up and down in the picture he was clutching.

"Fuck, Harry," he breathed, his hand moving faster, suddenly having no difficulty in imagining himself as the red-head with Harry's lips wrapped around his own, aching hardness. Harry on his knees in front of him, his hands clutching Ron's thighs as he licked and sucked and swallowed him down. With a deep groan Ron came, almost curling up on himself as his orgasm tore through him.

He slumped back, gasping for breath through the shocky aftermath, his eyes shut as he slowly regained control of himself. He finally licked his too-dry lips, then let out an explosive breath which turned into soft laughter.

"That was fucking brilliant," he announced to the empty room before fumbling for his wand and muttering a quick cleaning charm. "Should have tried this ages ago. My prick's got more sense than my head, obviously. Just waited for me to catch up."

He looked down at the discarded magazine, which looked even more rumpled than before, and smiled at the two grinning, sated faces that peered up at him through the creases on the page. The red-head gave him a thumbs up, and Ron burst out laughing. He ran his hand over the page, trying to smooth out the worst of the creases, but the dark haired man just rolled his eyes.

"Guess you're used to that, eh?" Ron said.

The dark haired figure shrugged, a smile on his face, and Ron shook his head as he smoothed the page one last time and closed the magazine.

--

"Ron?"

"In here, mate."

"Something smells good."

Ron closed the oven door and turned to face Harry. He looked tired, but there was a smile on his face as he walked over to Ron.

"One of Mum's casseroles. Thought we should start eating them before the stasis charms wear off and we have to chuck them out."

"Good idea," Harry said. "So, how did it go today?"

Ron felt his face heat up, but he took a deep breath and said, "Fine. Sarah's really pleased with my progress."

"That's brilliant, mate," Harry said. "Did you have a chat to Andrew?"

"Yeah. Look, dinner's almost ready. Why don't you go and get changed, and I'll tell you all about it while we eat."

"Do you need a hand with anything?"

Ron shook his head. "All under control."

"Fair enough. I won't be a minute, then."

Ron sighed explosively as he heard Harry's bedroom door close, sternly telling the butterflies in his stomach to pack it in as he got out the plates and began dishing up their dinner. His porn mag fuelled experiment had gone brilliantly. Harry obviously fancied him. So all Ron had to do was make his move.

He put the plates on the table, and briefly toyed with the idea of a glass or two of Firewhisky for a bit of Dutch courage, but swiftly vetoed the idea. They both had to be reasonably sober, or Harry would just think it was the drink talking, and Ron didn't want to chance it. A glass or two of wine, though, he decided, would be fine. Enough to take the edge off, but leaving no doubt as to his intentions.

"What's the occasion?"

Ron jumped, so caught up in his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed Harry standing in the kitchen doorway.

"Sorry," Harry said with a chuckle. "Didn't mean to startle you." He pulled out a chair and sat down. Then he picked up his glass of wine and took a sip. "Nice. We don't have wine very often."

"Thought it'd make a change," Ron said. "So how was your day?"

Ron's thoughts kept drifting off as Harry chatted about the latest gossip at the Ministry, and it wasn't until his plate was empty that he realised he'd actually been eating. He reached for Harry's plate, but Harry waved him back to his seat, picked up the plates himself and dumped them into the sink, saying, "You cooked, only fair I should clean up."

Harry waved his wand and started the plates washing themselves, then he sat down at the table again. He picked up the wine bottle, topped up their drinks, and as he put the bottle down again, he began chuckling.

"You'd have paid money to come along on the raid with us today, Ron," Harry said, grinning widely. "We'd had reports of a coven selling illegal potions to Muggles in Glastonbury. Not the usual sugarwater with a few herbs in it. These were recreational potions, and they were getting Muggles addicted to them. Anyway, they sent four of us, not knowing how many were involved. So we Apparated in, then threw up the wards to stop any of them doing a runner. Turned out they ran the operation from a small farm. Lots of animals wandering about, junk all over the place. We found three of them straight away, and they gave us no trouble. There was a fourth one, though. The coven leader, as it turned out. Right nasty bastard, apparently. Anyway, he'd seen us come in and was hiding in the barn. We flushed him out, but the bastard took off, firing hexes left, right and centre. So Draco went chasing after him, and as he grabbed him he turned into a bloody goat of all things! He's hanging on for dear life, and the bloody goat's bucking and kicking and dragging him along the ground. By the time I managed to get close enough to hit him with the charm to force him out of his Animagus form he'd dragged Draco right through the pig pen and..."

Harry snorted and then burst into gales of laughter.

"You should have seen him, Ron. I'd have given a week's pay for a camera, I swear. He just stood there, covered in mud, pig shit and God knows what else. I thought he'd go ballistic, but he just laughed along with everyone else and Dawlish – Dawlish of all people! - slapped him on the back and said, 'You're all right, Malfoy.' I reckon he did himself a lot of good. There's still the odd one or two who've got it in for him, but things are a lot better than they were. He gets invited along for drinks after work and stuff, now. Seems a lot happier than he did, and the sneering and snotty attitude have gone. Well, mostly gone, anyway. Now he's not on the defensive all the time, I don't reckon he needs to hide behind them, you know?"

Ron's heart sank. Harry's face lit up as he spoke about Malfoy. He seemed to really care about him, and Ron was suddenly afraid that he'd had his revelation far too late.

"You like him, don't you?" Ron blurted out.

Harry blinked. "Well, yeah," he said slowly. "And I thought you were getting on better with him, too. He's really trying, Ron."

"Yeah, I know. But Malfoy? How can you... I mean, bloody hell, Harry, it's Malfoy! I know he's really trying and you really seem to like him but I wish you'd told me. I mean, you haven't said a thing and you didn't even ask me if..." Ron's voice died away as he realised he was babbling incoherently, if the look of bafflement on Harry's face was any guide.

"Ron?"

Harry's hand was suddenly on his arm, his concern clear in his eyes as he said, "What's going on, mate?"

"I... Look, I overheard you and Malfoy talking the other day. About the posh restaurant and the dancing and stuff and...and I mean, we could do that. If you wanted to. You and me, I mean. Well, probably not the dancing, 'cause I have enough trouble walking some days, but we could go out, somewhere nice. Just the two of us. You know, candles and wine and stuff. And then we could...you know, 'cause I know that you... And I'd..."

Ron snapped his mouth shut, aware that he was once again babbling and making no sense, and stared at the tabletop. There was a scraping and banging sound as Harry dragged his chair next to Ron's, and he flinched as he felt Harry's arm wrap around his shoulders.

"Ron?" Harry said softly. "Are you asking me out?"

"Um, maybe?"

There was a stunned silence for a moment, then Harry said, "Because you think Draco asked me out?"

Ron gave a jerky nod.

Harry sighed, a soft breath that felt warm against Ron's cheek. "He's straight, Ron. He actually fancies Ginny. He's trying to work up the guts to ask her out. He was telling me what he'd got planned, that's all."

The relief that flooded through Ron was almost enough to distract him from the fact that Malfoy was sniffing around his sister. He'd definitely be having words with him about it.

"And even if he wasn't, I'm not interested in him that way. Or anybody else, come to that," Harry continued. "So you don't have to...you know, just because you think you have to. I'm not going anywhere, Ron."

"No!" Ron said, turning his head quickly and then freezing as he saw how close Harry's face was. They stared at each in shock for a moment, then Ron darted forward and pressed his lips to Harry's. Their noses collided and Ron winced. He tried to move away, but Harry's hand was suddenly on his shoulder, holding him in place. He tilted his head and their lips met once more. The kiss was soft, hesitant, questioning, and Harry's hold on Ron loosened, allowing Ron to pull back after a moment.

"I'm not... It's not just because of Malfoy," Ron said. "I mean, yeah, that's what got me thinking about you and me and stuff; but how I feel about you, that's got nothing to do with him or..."

Ron shrugged and he gazed into Harry's eyes, willing him to understand. Ron wasn't good with words, especially about feelings and things, and Harry knew that.

Harry nodded slowly. "You're the only one I want, Ron. But have you really thought about this? It'll change things and -"

"No," Ron interrupted. "See, I don't think it will, Harry. I mean, look at us. We live together, we go out together, we spend most of our free time together. And it's not because we have to. It's because we want to, right?"

Harry looked thoughtful as he nodded, and Ron continued, "People are so used to us doing stuff together that we're almost treated as a couple anyway, right? And we are, I reckon. We just didn't realise it. Or I didn't, at any rate. The only thing we don't do is sleep together, right?"

"Well yeah, but -"

Ron was on a roll now, however, and spoke over the top of Harry, saying, "So I don't think it'll change anything much at all. Unless -" He stopped abruptly. "Unless you don't actually fancy me?"

Ron felt a sudden surge of doubt. Yeah, one of Harry's favourite wank magazine pictures featured a red-head, and Harry had whispered that he loved him to Ron, but that didn't prove a thing. Ron was still badly scarred, and the muscle wastage in his right leg, even with all the work he'd put in, was still very noticeable. His wasn't the sort of body anyone would want appearing in their fantasies. He suddenly saw Harry's objections in an entirely different light and shuffled back, away from him. But Harry moved with him, tightening his hold once more.

"What on earth's going on in that head of yours?" Harry said, a fond smile on his face.

Ron's smile felt forced as he said, "Nothing. You're right. Things are fine as they are. It's not worth bollocksing everything up over a quick roll in the hay, right?"

The smile faded from Harry's face, but his eyes never left Ron's, boring into him, and too late Ron remembered that Harry actually was a Legilimens. He suddenly remembered what he'd done with Harry's porn mag and felt his face heat up. Harry's eyes widened in surprise as Ron snapped, "Don't do that!"

"I wasn't trying to," Harry protested. "You were practically shoving your thoughts at me. And you're wrong. Nothing in any porn mag could even come close to you. You're Ron. My Ron. And right at this moment I want nothing more than to take you to bed and prove to you how fucking sexy you are."

And then Harry was kissing him, and there was nothing soft or gentle about it this time. It was hard and desperate and demanding, and Ron found himself responding, wrapping himself around Harry and pulling him closer, feeling that he couldn't get him close enough. He needed more.

"Bed. Now," Harry gasped out, and a dizzying moment later Ron found himself in Harry's bedroom.

They fell onto the bed, and Ron was surprised at how easy it was. Harry just took over, seemingly needing to taste every inch of newly-bared skin as he slowly stripped Ron. Ron tried to reciprocate, but Harry whispered, "This time's just for you," before hastily dragging off his own clothes and flinging them haphazardly about the room.

Ron's breath hitched as he saw Harry naked for the first time, hovering over him. He bit back a nervous giggle at the thought, because he'd seen Harry naked loads of times. But not like this. Not hard, with that look in his eye as his gaze roamed over Ron; as though he were a starving man and Ron a three course meal.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," Harry breathed as he reached out and gently stroked a shaking hand down Ron's cheek.

"And you're blind as a bat without your specs, you soppy git," Ron said. But he knew he was grinning stupidly at the sight of Harry's besotted, beaming smile as his eyes seemed to drink in every inch of Ron's body.

Ron shivered at the intensity of Harry's gaze, and Harry immediately raised his arm. A second later his wand flew into his hand, and with a quick wave Ron felt a rush of warmth as Harry said, "Sorry, should have remembered to cast a warming charm. Okay now?"

Ron simply nodded, not really wanting to try and explain that his reaction hadn't been due to the temperature of the room.

Harry continued to hover over him, very obviously taking his weight on his arms as he leant down and kissed Ron again, so Ron reached up and dragged him down, saying, "I'm not made of bloody glass."

"I know that," Harry protested, although the sheepish look on his face confirmed Ron's suspicion. "I just don't want to squash you or put too much pressure on your back or anything."

"You let me worry about that, okay?" Ron said firmly, and then to forestall any further argument, he slipped a hand up to cup the back of Harry's head and pulled him into a kiss. Harry shifted slightly, and Ron moaned as Harry was suddenly pressed firmly against him. Their kiss deepened as Ron tightened his hold, trying to pull Harry impossibly closer. The heated skin against his own felt amazing, and he wondered vaguely how he had ever survived without this. He didn't just want this; he needed this. Like food and air and magic, Harry was necessary to his very survival. He had been merely existing; now he was truly alive.

Harry overwhelmed him. Every nerve sparked and sang as Harry lavished attention on him, kissing and licking and stroking and nibbling Ron into submission. And then Harry's hands were on his thighs as his lips surrounded Ron's aching hardness, and he realised that his imagination was sorely lacking. Because Harry's mouth was hotter and wetter and so much better than his fantasy, and his tongue was a slippery, teasing thing that wrung whimpers and pleas from him as Ron's hands scrabbled for purchase, gripping Harry's shoulders and clutching at his head. Heat pooled at the base of his spine, a quicksilver cord that curled and twisted and he fought for breath as it coiled tighter and tighter within him until he finally cried out as it shattered, and Ron flew apart in a million glittering shards.

--

Ron grimaced. There was a dull ache in his back, and his thigh muscle was sore. He grunted softly as he shifted in the bed, his hand automatically kneading the tender muscle.

"Ron? You okay?"

Ron's eyes flew open. For a moment he stared blankly at Harry, wondering why they were in bed together – in Harry's bed together – and then feeling his face heat up as the memories came flooding back.

"Do you want your potion? Are you all right?"

Ron's throat felt dry, and he swallowed thickly, croaking as he tried to speak. Harry immediately sat up, and a moment later held out a glass of water. Ron carefully propped himself up on one elbow and gratefully drained the glass in a couple of swallows.

"I'm fine," Ron said as he handed the empty glass back to Harry. "Bit achy, but no more than usual."

"Good. I was a bit worried. You sort of passed out on me. But you were only asleep. I checked, just in case I needed to...um... But you seemed okay, and then I fell asleep, too. I, er, woke up just before you did."

Harry was plucking at the sheet nervously, sneaking looks at Ron before staring determinedly at his own hands, and Ron found himself grinning as he watched him. For once it was Harry who was nervous, uncertain, and Ron found it rather endearing.

"So I missed out on the cuddling in the afterglow, did I?"

Harry looked up, relief clear on his face as he smiled at Ron. "So, you okay with... I mean, you still..."

Ron chuckled. "You're babbling, mate. C'mere."

Harry shuffled closer as Ron shifted, pulling Harry into his arms. The ache in his muscles faded into the background as he pulled Harry close. He dropped a kiss on the messy black hair, and smiled as he felt Harry kiss his neck.

"You were right," Harry said softly. "This isn't going to change anything, is it? I mean, it feels right. Like we should have done this a long time ago."

Ron could detect the hint of uncertainty in Harry's voice, and tightened his arms about him as he said, "Yeah, it does."

Harry seemed to melt in his arms, and only then did Ron realise that he'd still been holding back a little, tensed and waiting for possible rejection.

"I've always loved you," Harry whispered. "But I never thought..."

"Me too," Ron said after a moment. "I just needed a shove."

Harry gave a soft, huffing laugh, and Ron smiled as his eyes drifted shut. Despite what he'd said, he knew that things would change. He had no intention of hiding the fact that he and Harry were together now, and that would inevitably affect how some people saw them. But if they didn't like it, that was their problem. Because Ron was happy, completely happy, for the first time in...well, what felt like forever.

A jaw-cracking yawn took him by surprise, and his eyelids fluttered open once more. He raised his head, peering about to try and see what time it was.

"Go back to sleep, Ron. It's too early to get up, yet," Harry muttered.

At his words, Ron finally noticed that daylight was seeping through the drawn curtains.

"I slept all night?" Ron blurted out. "But I didn't take my potion and I never sleep through without it. That's never happened before."

Harry raised his head, blinking sleepily. He looked rather pleased with himself as he said, "You've never spent the night in my bed before. And if I have my way, you'll never need your potion again."

Ron rolled his eyes, but couldn't quite keep the smile from his face as he said, "I don't know, Harry. I've needed it every night up till now."

"I think I can manage that," Harry said, suddenly looking wide awake and vaguely...predatory.

Ron swallowed as arousal curled low in his stomach at the sudden heated look from Harry.

"Cocky sod, aren't you?"

"I'm not the only one," Harry said softly, and Ron's eyes widened as he felt a warm hand suddenly wrap itself around him.

It was all a bit of a blur after that. Hands and mouths and desperate kisses and thrusting and moaning and finally, finally that sudden moment of blinding bliss that left Ron panting, sweaty and sated.

"All right?"

Ron cracked open an eyelid, and chuckled as he saw a very tousled and rather happy looking Harry grinning maniacally at him.

"Better than all right, Harry. Fucking brilliant, in fact."

Harry's grin softened. "I love you, Ron."

Ron reached out and dragged Harry into his arms. "Love you too," he said.

As he nuzzled the top of Harry's head, he toyed vaguely with the idea of getting up, but remembered that this was one of those rare Saturdays when neither of them had to work. They could spend the entire day in bed if they wanted to. With a sigh of contentment, Ron closed his eyes and just luxuriated in the feel of Harry, warm and solid in his arms, as he drifted off to sleep.

End


End file.
